


My Bijou

by swishydetective



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Aziraphale's pinky ring, Cliches but make them gay, Crowley Was Raphael Before He Fell (Good Omens), Crowley sleeps for a century post 1812 ok, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Ficlet, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Historical References, Kind of canon divergent, Kissing, Love, Lovers in Heaven, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Mention of sex, Nothing explicit, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Crowley (Good Omens), Pining, Post-fall amnesia, Pre to post Fall, References to Canon, Romance, Sexual Tension, Strangers to Lovers, but resurrection don't worry, hand-holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 09:35:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20095126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swishydetective/pseuds/swishydetective
Summary: *You and me, we are destinedYou'll agreeTo spend the rest of our lives with each otherThe rest of our days, like two loversForever, yeah, foreverMy bijou*Lovers in Heaven, strangers on Earth, Crowley and Aziraphale somehow always find a way back to each other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics in the summary from "My Bijou" by Queen
> 
> This all started because of a pinky ring that a certain angel wears from Eden to the End Times... And it became this 6k monster ficlet. 
> 
> The biggest thank you to ineffablesam on twitter for suggesting I take this idea and run with it, and for being the greatest beta reader, ily 
> 
> Enjoy x

He had wings tipped in gold and eyes to match: the most gorgeous in the garrison. His mane was a bright, fiery colour and his luscious locks curled beautifully, framing his narrow and bony face. His smile was wide and bright, and every angel wished for it to be flashed in their direction. He emanated charisma and empathy, so it was no wonder She had made him one of Her Archangels. He was The Healer, but as of now, his duties were creating nebulae and planets. There was something about him that was different from the other Archangels, a curiosity and what could be described as a lust for life. He was mesmerizing. Everyone thought so. And before the fall, his name was Raphael. 

Aziraphale, principality and angel of the Eastern Gate, was one of those who admired his every move. He couldn’t help but compare himself with Raphael. They were so different it almost pained him. His white-blonde feathery hair was short and unkempt, his own eyes were the kind of blue that changed with their surroundings and he didn’t have the narrow frame of the Archangel. In fact, he would describe himself as soft. His wings were simple and white. They only shared a passion for the new world She was talking about creating. Aziraphale was expectantly waiting to be sent to Earth. Perhaps he could make a name for himself there. He could have a purpose. 

Aziraphale was sitting next to a fountain, his gaze lost in the movement of the limpid water. He was alone, as he was most times. The other principalities were not exactly close to him, as they preferred not talking about the future. The angel of the Eastern Gate couldn’t help but imagine what it would resemble. Would it be lush greenery, or breathtaking deserts and planes, or high mountains, or fields? He saw what other planets had and tried to combine them into a beautiful haven for these new creatures he was to watch over: humans. 

Someone sat next to him on the edge of the fountain, he paid them no mind. He was lost in his reverie. 

“You come here often, don’t you?” said the newcomer in Aziraphale’s direction. 

The principality looked to his left, and was face to face with the beautiful Archangel. He smiled nervously at him. Now that he was so close to Raphael, he noticed a few things. For one, the golden-eyed angel wore a few pieces of jewelry, which was not exactly common in Heaven. Second, Aziraphale couldn’t help but wonder at the kindness in his eyes. He stumbled on his words: 

“I-I do. I like it here. Quiet. Away from the … hustle and bustle. How do you know?“

The Archangel smiled and tucked a lock of red hair behind his ear. 

“-I noticed you’re often on your own. I’d never heard you talk, not even to other angels. I was just wondering what you sounded like.” 

“You know of me?”

“I know of everyone…”

“Aziraphale.”

The principality felt flustered. The redhead extended a hand towards him. Unsure of what he was supposed to do with this, Aziraphale bent down and kissed his ring-adorned hand. Crowley-to-be laughed in delight. The blonde angel’s cheeks went pink but he smiled at the beautiful sound of the Archangel’s laughter. 

“I’ll show you what we can do next time.”

The golden-eyed being took Aziraphale’s hand in his and shook it lightly, his thumb lingering on the principality’s knuckles. He blushed even more and nodded in understanding. They made small talk for a good amount of time, until Aziraphale let slip an idea he had about Earth. 

“I wonder if the humans are going to be able to see the stars from Earth. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

Something sparkled in the Archangel’s eyes, but before he could say anything Uriel was calling on him, barely looking at Aziraphale. Crowley-to-be gave a look at the principality over his shoulder, almost reassuring him this wasn’t over. The blonde watched him walk away. There was something in his strut that was unlike any other holy being, a swaying of his hips, freedom of movement which was very unusual. The angel of the Eastern gate felt a smile spread across his face. 

Time passed and Raphael and Aziraphale got closer. They always met by the fountain and discussed Earth and what they hoped it would be like. Other angels started to notice the bond between the unlikely pair. There were whispers: 

“What’s so special about him?”  
“Raphael can have anyone he wants and choses him?”  
“Who is he? I’ve never talked to him before. “  
“Raphael has been acting strange lately…”

Neither of them cared about the rumours. They simply enjoyed each other’s company. One day, the Archangel invited the principality to his favourite planet he’d helped create: Proxima Centauri. They went only the both of them. Crowley-to-be showed him all the wonders of this world. They found a beautiful little spot, on top of the rocky mountains, where the sky was the brightest. They laid down and gazed at the three moons shining down on them. 

“It’s beautiful,” whispered Aziraphale, awed by the purple night sky. 

“It is.”

The principality turned around, as he realized the golden-eyed creature was much closer than before. He was looking at him rather than at the sky, one hand in his fiery mane, the other moments away from touching Aziraphale. He felt his chest swell as his eyes fell on Raphael’s lips. The Archangel slid a hand into the principality’s and brought it to his lips, kissing it like his companion had done the first time. Aziraphale made a little noise, somewhere between laughter and a gasp. Crowley-to-be released his hand and cupped the angel’s cheek with it. They closed their eyes and brought their lips together. It was tender, yet passionate. Aziraphale’s hand was on top of Raphael’s, brushing his thumb gently over it. Raphael deepened the kiss, opening his mouth and sucking at Aziraphale’s bottom lip. They embraced each other and spent hours there, exchanging caresses. 

When they came back to Heaven, they were inseparable. The others noticed the change in their attitudes. The two spent most of their time together, except when Raphael was called to duty. Aziraphale always waited for him to come back, yearning for his lover. 

One day, the Archangel came back from a mission, very giddy. He took the principality’s hand and they flew together to Raphael’s den. While they were angels and didn’t need sleep or any material objects, Crowley-to-be had created a space for himself, away from the others, even Aziraphale. 

“Just wait here, I have something for you. Close your eyes,” said the redhead.

He peppered kisses all over his face and he was gone. Aziraphale could hear the movement of the fabric of Raphael’s toga moving against the floor. He felt a smile creep on his face as he was standing there. Suddenly, the Archangel’s hands were in his and something cold fell into his palm. 

“Open your eyes,” he murmured into his ear. 

Aziraphale did as he was told and found a beautiful ring in his hand. It was made of solid holy gold and represented open wings. The Archangel had crafted it himself, and he’d gathered stardust from every single star he’d created to make it. He told this to his angel. 

“-Oh, it’s absolutely beautiful, my dear.”  
“Try it on!”

The principality wasn’t sure which finger to slip it on. Crowley-to-be put the matter into his own hands and tried to push it down Aziraphale’s ring finger, to no avail. 

“This is so embarrassing,” wailed the Archangel, hiding his face in the crook of his lover’s neck. 

“No, look,” he whispered gently, having slipped the ring on his pinky. “It’s perfect.”

The golden eyes were brimmed with tears but a small smile appeared on the redhead’s face when he saw it on Aziraphale. The latter, deeply moved by the attention, put the ring-adorned hand on Raphael’s face and brought him in for a tender kiss. There was no such thing as marriage in Heaven, but this exchange was sacred to the two beings and they didn’t need a ceremony to know that they swore fidelity and unconditional love to each other right then. 

In the following days, the two lovebirds were nowhere to be found and the angels started making stories about them running away together. Everybody knew how close they’d become and some were still sore that Raphael had chosen him over them. 

The Archangel and the principality had gone back to Proxima Centauri and had spent a week gallivanting around, making love to each other and talking about Earth and the humans. When they came back, they looked so infatuated with each other that there were no more questions about the nature of their relationship. 

Angels started gravitating towards Aziraphale, who’d suddenly become interesting to them. They asked him about “his Raphael” and he always blushed when he told them anything. The Archangel attracted different crowds too. He became close with Lucifer, who’d heard about his fascination with the new world. 

They’d never felt his happy before. 

One night, Aziraphale was waiting for Crowley-to-be in his den, as per usual. After a while, he realized something wasn’t right. Heaven was incredibly quiet, and there was something in the air. He flew around, finding no one. He landed in the main hall and finally bumped into Michael, who looked distraught. 

“What is happening?” he asked right away. 

She took his arms in her hands, her purple eyes staring straight into him. 

“She is casting some angels away, Aziraphale… Oh, this is terrible. Raphael—”

Aziraphale felt fear for the very first time. He couldn’t bear to hear the rest of her sentence and ran towards the fields, where he found everyone gathered. Thousands of angels were backing up as their counterparts rounded them up, armed with their holy weapons. Aziraphale scanned the crowd, trying to find his lover. Someone cried out and all hell broke loose. Lucifer was dead centre, his face contorted with anger and betrayal, cutting down whoever tried to attack him. 

The principality cried out the Archangel’s name, unable to find him anywhere. Angels were crashing down everywhere, flames burning their beautiful feathers and turning them to the colour of coal. 

Crowley-to-be had been caught up in the initial fight, trying to calm down Lucifer and Gabriel. Gabriel had spat at their feet, and had said they had no right to meddle in Her plan for the new world. Lucifer had unleashed all of his power then, and started it all. Raphael had just been at the wrong place at the wrong time. The impact between the rivals catapulted him to the ground and knocked him out. When he came about, he saw angels slain by their own kind and tried to heal as many of them as he could. If he succeeded, they’d almost all instantly crash through the surface, falling. In tears, he realized Aziraphale was probably somewhere in the chaos. He was running around, desperate to find him. Rage bubbled up inside him. How could She allow this massacre? Why wasn’t She stopping it? 

His golden eyes finally found Aziraphale in the crowd. He’d summoned his flaming sword but it hung loosely by his side. 

“AZIRAPHALE!”

Blue eyes met his and they started running for each other. Suddenly, an angel Crowley-to-be knew on Lucifer’s side appeared behind Aziraphale and struck him with his spear. The Archangel saw the weapon go through his lover’s stomach, his eyes go wide with shock and pain. Raphael screamed and tore the assailant apart with his bare hands, in a fury like no one had ever seen him. He fell to the ground next to Aziraphale, who was coughing up golden blood, and held him in his arms. 

“No, please don’t do this to me, you can’t leave me, you can’t, you can’t-” sobbed the golden-eyed angel. 

Aziraphale mustered up all the strength left in him and cupped his beautiful boy’s cheek. He looked into his eyes and tried to smile at him. His ever-changing blue eyes went still as life left him. 

The Archangel cried out with immeasurable pain. Time stopped, and so did the battle. Every angel in the garrison watched in horror. Raphael held Aziraphale’s body. Tears flowed down his face. 

“BRING HIM BACK!” He shouted to Her. 

He simply refused to let this happen. She was wrong. There was no righteousness in taking Aziraphale. No justice. If this was part of Her Ineffable Plan, then fuck it. 

He rested Aziraphale’s body on the ground and threw his arms back, unleashing all of his power. The whole battlefield was drowned in golden light. No one could see anything. Then it was gone. Half of the angels had disappeared, everyone who was on Lucifer’s side. The other half were left standing there, weapons in hand, dumbfounded. 

There was a loud gasp for air. Aziraphale sat up, clutching at his chest. The angels around him rushed to his side, eyes wide. The angel of the Eastern gate didn’t have a scratch. Raphael had brought him back. 

During the flash, he made all of the remaining angels on Lucifer’s side crash down, hoping they would feel as much pain as he did. Then, he stood on the edge of the field and dove down, feeling his beautiful wings decompose. His eyes burned and he felt his tongue being slit in two. Nothing compared to the pain he felt inside, having lost his Aziraphale. He wanted nothing to do with Heaven again. As he crashed on the ground, scales grew all over his body. He finally opened his eyes and he brought a hand to his face in horror as he realized he couldn’t see every colour anymore. He’d become the Serpent. He lay there in agony, his mind going hazy, wanting the world to disappear.


	2. Chapter 2

**4004 B.C. Eden. **

A wily serpent slithered on the luscious grass. His belly was as red as rubies and his back was black like the night. In Hell, he was respected. It was why they’d put him on apple tree duty. He was watching the two humans, who’d discovered a water source and were playing in it. His yellow eyes caught movement from the other side, in the forest. He saw a flash of white disappear among the trees. So there he was, the angel sent on a mission to guard the humans. The serpent flicked out its tongue, bemused. The poor ethereal creature stood no chance. The demon found Eve on her own later that afternoon and whispered in her ear to taste the forbidden fruit. It took very little convincing. Satisfied, the serpent climbed the wall and found the angel looking down on the desert. He morphed into his humanoid form. His name was Crawly. 

Aziraphale was a little startled by the demon appearing next to him. He looked at his broken black wings and hurt for him. He probably shouldn’t have any empathy for a fallen angel, but he couldn’t help himself. The demon was beautiful, he noticed. His serpentine eyes were the only thing that would have made anyone suspect he wasn’t normal. 

“Well, that went down like a lead balloon,” said Crawly. 

Throughout their brief conversation, the angel almost felt safe with the demon. He wasn’t what he imagined the fallen would be like at all. Both of them then went back to their respective duties and that was that. They didn’t recognize each other. 

**41 A.D. Rome. **

When Aziraphale heard Crawly—no, Crowley’s voice at the bar, he lit up. He’d grown quite fond of the demon, even if he was absolutely terrified to admit it. He greeted him and sat next to him. He seemed to be in a terrible mood. It pained Aziraphale to see the beautiful red curls gone, but he was still dashing with his short hair. They discussed why they were here and the angel told him right away that he wanted to try the oysters. 

“I’ve never eaten an oyster,” said the demon, the irritation in his voice slightly wavering. 

“Oh-oh, well let me tempt you to—Oh, no, that’s your job, isn’t it?” replied the angel, getting carried away. 

Crowley smiled up at him, amused by the slip up and the angel’s eagerness about food. Aziraphale was flustered but he soldiered on. 

“Well, come on now, you have to try them immediately!” 

And they found themselves in the little restaurant with a giant plate of oysters. As they were in a secluded corner, the demon put his glasses down and let the principality see his eyes. They were talking about Caligula and the kingdom. Crowley had to admit the oysters were delightful. They paired well with the wine they were having and the conversation flowed easily. Aziraphale blabbered on about the last time he’d had the dish, and the demon was smiling at him and listening intently. The principality stopped to have an oyster and as he tipped his head back, Crowley finally noticed the golden ring on his pinky finger. 

It suddenly felt like his head was split in two. Flashes of bright, beautiful places were coming to him. Then there were nebulae. And there he was, Aziraphale, smiling up at him with such … adoration? In another flash, he saw their hands intertwined, the angel wearing the very same ring. 

“Crowley, is everything alright?” he heard Aziraphale ask. 

He was brought back to reality and he realized he was pulling at his hair, face down on the table. The angel went to touch his shoulder reassuringly, but Crowley got up straight away. 

“Need to—Um, you know how it is… Hell calling and … whatnot. Ciao.’’

Aziraphale watched him leave in a hurry. He sat there, abruptly alone. He wondered if it was something he’d said. He left Petronius a generous tip and materialized back in Heaven. Some angels passed by him and exchanged a glance, but didn’t say anything. Aziraphale went and sat on the edge of a fountain he’d grown quite fond of. There was something familiar about it but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

Crowley, on the flip side, was panicking. What had just happened? He couldn’t remember anything about Heaven before now. His chest hurt. He could still see the loving smile the angel was flashing him in his memory. Why did the ring trigger this? He kept bumping into other demons, distraught. He hissed at anyone who tried to tell him off. Was there any way to learn about what had happened to his memories? He sat in a corner, holding himself, staring into nothingness. The same images repeated over and over again in his head, and he tried to make sense of them without avail. He’d gotten closer to the angel, he had to admit, but would this explain why? If they had known each other before, could their feelings have lingered within them? Did Aziraphale remember at all? 

As time went by and Crowley and Aziraphale started seeing more of each other, and Crowley remembered more and more. Every time the angel would laugh, a memory of the principality hiding his smile behind his hand would resurface. The demon always felt a rush of adrenaline when he got these memories. He’d developped the habit of pushing his sunglasses further up his nose, making sure the angel didn’t notice anything. After a while, he became accustomed to the interruptions and didn’t flinch as much. He was still terrified that anyone, especially a blonde angel, could read his mind and realize that he was slowly getting fond of the flashes of his old life. He was terrible at his job: he’d befriended an angel, whom he used to know before his fall, he had made an arrangement with him that was making him perform miracles for good, and most importantly, his stone cold heart was melting away every time that sunny angel friend appeared. Crowley decided Hell was no longer safe for the poor excuse of a demon that he was, so he bought his own place, which he made as uninviting for any occult or ethereal creature as he could. When he was with Aziraphale, he made sure to keep a safe distance between them, so he wouldn’t be tempted to do anything that would betray he felt- well, anything. He could tell the principality was getting more comfortable with him because he had to dodge many attempts at friendly physical contact. Slowly, though, he cut himself some loose, as no one seemed to check up on him. He let Aziraphale excitedly touch his arm once in a while. Or perhaps he brushed his hand against the angel’s _ accidentally _. Once, when they were in Paris and Aziraphale was talking enthusiastically about new books he’d acquired, he saw a flash of them lying next to each other and talking about Earth. Crowley was falling again, except this time didn’t involve burning wings. He was pretty bad at hiding it, too. 

**1812\. Soho. **

Crowley’s hair once again resembled the beautiful mane he sported before his fall. This time, though, he’d tied it back with an elegant, black silk hair tie. He wore a black blouse under a tight peplum jacket. His lower half was covered by a pair of short, black, skin-tight trousers and knee-high white socks. The accessories were his favourite, the high-heeled slippers with bows on them and the neck scarf made his fashionista self secretly very happy. Aziraphale wore something similar, in hues of beige and pink. He looked out of a dream. The angel’s get-up was slightly more _ froufrou _ than his but looked very good, Crowley thought. 

Aziraphale had raved about going to one of these places forever and the demon caved in. They walked in and Crowley froze at the door. The angel had been suspiciously vague about these Molly Houses, and now the demon understood why. If they were seen walking out of here anywhere close to each other, they’d probably be attacked on the street. Men were walking around, holding hands, kissing each other, dining with each other, in total freedom. Crowley always knew Aziraphale didn’t care what other people thought about him. He’d always been effeminate and very expressive, which were qualities Crowley found extremely endearing. He himself had never been very in on gender, mixing qualities and looks without a second thought. But this was something else. This was “putting a label on it” and damning the consequences. 

“Angel, do you think—”

He couldn’t finish his sentence, as Aziraphale slipped a hand in his and pulled him towards a little room the demon hadn’t noticed. It had a table, an elegant sofa and a grand piano. The table was filled with various little pastries and desserts, and Crowley couldn’t help but smile, knowing this was probably the reason the angel had brought them here. The yellow-eyed being sat down and gazed over at Aziraphale. He was engaging conversation like this was any other restaurant. Crowley admired him and his courage. The angel had never changed his behaviour for humans’ comfort. He’d found a group of men who exhibited the same qualities as him and talked about a great spot for tea and he’d just brought him along. 

Aziraphale placed his hand on top of Crowley’s, feeling he wasn’t listening, but also getting a thrill from being allowed to do so in public. The demon blinked up at him, looking flustered. 

“Sssorry, what?”

“I was saying you should try the tea, it’s excellent, dear.”

Crowley managed a “huh-huh” and brought the cup to his lips, still looking at Aziraphale. He didn’t break eye contact.

Behind the sunglasses, Crowley remembered a similar look in the angel’s eyes, except in the vision, Aziraphale was very much less clothed and much more dynamic with his hips. Crowley coughed into his tea, choking. Aziraphale’s bedroom eyes were gone and were replaced with worry. He miracled a handkerchief and gave it to the demon, who patted himself down, drying the tea that had splattered everywhere. 

“Good, yeah—” squeaked Crowley. 

Aziraphale was trying not to laugh as the demon was still burning up. 

Crowley had wondered if all those glances and smiles and all the hand-holding meant they were more than just good friends. That mystery was solved. 

**1941\. London. **

Crowley had just heard that a certain bookseller was in a church trying to catch Nazis and he knew this couldn’t end well. He stood in front of the doors for a moment, knowing and dreading what this would feel like. He pushed the heavy wooden doors and barged in, just in time, it seemed, as three guns were pointed towards his angel. 

The demon danced from one foot to the other, hissing and cursing under his breath at the consecrated ground burning his soles. He stalled the Nazis with his speech, and when the bomb crashed on the holy building, the two of them were left standing in the rubble. 

“-Oh, the books! I forgot all the books! Oh, they’ll all be blown to—”

“Little demonic miracle of my own,’’ smiled Crowley, handing him the bag. 

As their hands grazed each other, and he looked at the golden ring on Aziraphale’s pinky, another flash came to the demon. He had that very same ring and he was trying to put it on the angel’s ring finger. He shook the memory off and smiled at Aziraphale, offering him a lift home. His heart fluttered, hands shaking. He opened the door for Aziraphale, who sat in the Bentley, clutching the bag with the precious books against his chest. Crowley sat behind the wheel, and started talking, and talking, and talking. He went on about anything and everything, trying to escape the weight of his memories. Aziraphale gave him a funny look, but he never interrupted him. 

The angel looked at Crowley in a new light. The demon had walked in a church to get him out of trouble. He’d thought about his books when he didn’t need to. Now that Aziraphale thought about it, Crowley had always indulged him in all his demands. Every time Aziraphale thought he’d taken it too far, like that time in 1812, Crowley had just smiled at him and listened. He’d always felt love for the demon, like he did all creatures, but he knew now that this was not the same.

Crowley had finally exhausted every subject he could think of. They sat in silence as the demon pulled up in front of the bookshop. 

“There you go, angel.”

Aziraphale opened the door and went to leave, but he hesitated and turned around. Before Crowley could ask what that was about, the angel kissed his cheek. 

‘‘Right. Goodnight then,’’ said Aziraphale, a small smile on his face. He closed the door of the car and went in the bookshop. 

Crowley raised a hand to his cheek, a loopy grin on his face. 

**1969\. Soho. **

The angel and the demon were snuggled on the little couch in Aziraphale’s bookshop, eyes glued to the small screen. Crowley was biting his nails and Aziraphale was squeezing a pillow so tight it could have exploded at any moment, covering the cozy living room in synthetic down. They finally let themselves breathe as Apollo 11’s shuttle landed safely. They remained silent as Neil Armstrong said the famous words. 

“Space. They’ve finally done it,’’ whispered Crowley. 

“To think they will be able to see so much more of the universe now… It’s quite extraordinary.”

“Do you think they’ll like it?’’ he asked in a small voice. 

The angel frowned, turning his face towards him. Crowley looked like a small child, looking for validation. His Beatles haircut, which Aziraphale found adorable—not that he would ever say that out loud, he’d get proper yelled at by the demon—made him look even younger. He was biting his bottom lip and his golden eyes were inquiring, his serpentine pupils blown wide. 

“Of course, dear, why do you ask?”

Crowley looked back at the television, watching the American flag. 

“No reason.” 

The demon had always held out hope that his angel remembered everything between them, that the fall was the reason his memories came to him in fragments. But it seemed that both of them had lost each other that day. Aziraphale could tell something had upset his demon. He also knew he wasn’t going to simply open up and talk about it. 

“How about champagne? I’ve got a nice Dom Pérignon waiting for an occasion like this.” 

Without letting Crowley have a say, the angel went and got flutes and the dusty bottle. He popped it open and gave Crowley his glass. He took it and raised it as Aziraphale plopped down on the couch next to him. 

“To the universe,” he said with a shy smile. 

“To the universe,” replied the angel, beaming. 

They drank and discussed what humans could do next. Crowley had a flash of them next to a fountain, having a passionate discussion about the new world. He tried to hide his smile by taking a sip of the expensive champagne. He was getting fond of these memories now, just as he was getting a little too fond of the expressive angel in front of him. 

***

They had drunk far, far too much. They were both_ giggling _, Crowley had found a record and put it on and they were dancing, as well as an angel who’d only ever learned the gavotte and a demon with loose hips could dance. Crowley’s boot got caught in the carpet as he was kicking his leg up, and his arms flailed about before he collapsed on Aziraphale, bringing them both down. They were still laughing, but something had changed. Blue eyes kept wandering down to Crowley’s lips while he couldn’t help but appreciate the way their bodies fit together. 

Aziraphale put a hand on Crowley’s chest, as if trying to push him off, but it simply lingered there as they fell silent. The angel looked into the golden eyes with regret. They couldn’t. The demon understood but selfishly stayed put for a few more seconds, enjoying the warmth emanating from his angel. He sat up with a grunt and that was that. 

**2001\. Soho. **

Crowley had just delivered the Antichrist. He zigzagged between cars to get to the bookshop as fast as possible. He needed Aziraphale’s voice to calm him down. The car screeched to a halt in front of the store, Crowley jumped out almost before it had stopped running. He miracled the lock open and barged in mostly unannounced, the phone call from earlier having been vague enough. 

“ANGEL!’’ 

Aziraphale came down the stairs in his cozy cardigan and he looked a bit surprised to see him there. 

“Crowley? I thought we’d see each other tomorrow—’’

The demon went up the stairs in great strides and gripped the principality’s lapel, bringing him incredibly close to his face. Aziraphale was flustered and his blue eyes were wide open. 

“This is it. Only eleven years, angel, and then poof, gone, all of this—’’

“Crowley, Crowley… We will … find a way,’’ said Aziraphale softly, putting his hands on his shoulder reassuringly. 

The demon nodded, breathing out for the first time that evening. He never understood how Aziraphale could simply talk him off the edge, but he was grateful for it. He then realized just how close he was to him right now. They were holding each other tightly, Aziraphale’s thumbs soothingly going up and down against his shoulders. These moments had become common over the past decades, they seemed to find themselves in each other’s arms constantly. Crowley felt guilty, because he knew Aziraphale wasn’t ready for anything more than their arrangement, but he relished these moments. They always made him feel whole again, like he did before the fall. Perhaps the angel was what completed him, even then. The only flashbacks he’d had were the ones with Aziraphale, with the exception of the creation of the stars. 

“Right. Ok. Needed this. I will huhhh—come back with a plan. Yesss. See ya’.’’ 

Crowley took off before Aziraphale could tell that he’d gone soft. But he had known the demon for six millennia and he saw that something had happened when he held him. 

“It must be angelic healing,’’ Aziraphale thought out loud, without really believing it. He absentmindedly played with the ring on his finger as he heard the Bentley roar to life outside. 

**2012\. Tadfield. **

There was something about the End Times that made a demon realize everything they had to lose. From discovering you had raised the wrong child for eleven years to asking your angelic counterpart to run away with you, _ twice _, to disintegrating a demon with holy water, to believing the love of all your lives had disappeared in a fire… Well, all of that was a lot, even for an ex-Archangel. 

Seeing the burning bookshop had awakened the memories of the Holy Battle in Crowley’s mind. Something about the echo of his own voice desperately screaming Aziraphale’s full name instead of the usual “angel” had terrifying ties to his past life. He’d seen the terrible scene all over again and felt the pain he’d felt back then. The thought of a world without his angel was unbearable. No one could imagine the relief he felt when he saw that Aziraphale was alright. And when he’d seen him at the airbase, in Madame Tracy’s vessel, it had taken everything in him to stop himself from running into his arms. The explosion of his beloved Bentley had made for a great distraction. 

Then all Hell broke loose, literally. A burning, visceral pain took over him as he felt the supreme leader of Downstairs rise to the surface and he fell to the ground. The lot, terrified but unaware of how much power was being unleashed, looked at him. Aziraphale could feel it too, and he knew they had to do something immediately or… 

“Do something! Or… Or I’ll never talk to you again!’’ he blurted out, terrified by his own sentence.

Crowley, who had thought for a second that his angel was going to strike him with his flaming sword, felt even more panic at the terrible words. He had only got him back, tartan bow tie, old jacket and all. He could not, he would not lose him for a third time, he decided. With all the power he had in him, he raised his hands to the sky and stopped time. He blacked out briefly. Before his eyes, he saw a golden wave and thousands of angels crashing down. He saw the lifeless body of the only person who mattered to him laying at his side. He’d done this before for Aziraphale. He realized then that he was the one who brought him back. His love for the golden-haired angel was so strong, and his imagination so powerful, that he was able to do things only She should be able to achieve. 

He breathed out and Aziraphale, the young Adam and himself were in a plane of existence out of time. With this stubborn belief in his ability to protect his angel, Crowley and Aziraphale convinced the Antichrist that he could do what _ he _ thought was the right thing. 

Against all odds, the supernatural beings’ speech worked. Armageddon had been averted. One by one, everyone left, except for the two winged creatures. Crowley let out an incredulous laugh, and soon enough his angel joined him. 

“You did it,’’ murmured Aziraphale in shock. 

“_ We _ did it, angel!’’ Crowley laughed, taking him in his arms. 

Aziraphale froze at the contact. The demon had never been very keen on hugs. He smiled and held him back. They hugged for a bit too long. Aziraphale got worried when he heard a sob coming from Crowley. He pulled back to look into his golden eyes. Tears rolled down his handsome face, puzzling the angel. 

“I thought I’d lost you again,’’ he whispered. 

Aziraphale felt a pang in his chest. He raised a hand to Crowley’s face and wiped the tears away. 

“You didn’t lose me, my dear, don’t worry now.”

“No, angel, you don’t understand…”

“Then tell me, Crowley,’’ he said gently.

His face softened and his eyebrows raised, expectant. Crowley exhaled sharply, tilted his head just so, and locked his lips with his angel’s. 

Aziraphale let out a “hmpf!’’ of surprise, but very quickly kissed him back, holding him tightly again. His eyes fell shut. The feeling of Crowley’s soft lips against his was divine. Then, like a movie, various scenes flashed in his mind, all the memories Crowley had gotten back. They let go of each other’s lips, Aziraphale gasping. He looked at the demon—well the Archangel—the fallen—at _ Crowley _, mouth agape. 

Crowley had felt the electricity, the wave of memories transferring over to his angel and he looked down. He was waiting for Aziraphale to lash out at him, for guarding these from him. Instead, he reached for his ring, looking at it under a new light. He’d never thought about it, he’d always assumed it was something Heaven had given him to track him down. He admired the band longingly and then looked back at Crowley. Overwhelmed by emotion, Aziraphale threw himself back onto his demon, kissing him with everything that he had. His hands were running in his hair and Crowley’s arms were lifting him off the ground. They kissed until the sun came down, never wanting to stop. Crowley felt whole for the first time in millenia. He was filled with so much love for his angel and he could finally express it. Better yet, his love was reciprocated. Aziraphale couldn’t believe he’d had his soulmate in front of him all those years. He wanted to scream from the rooftops “FINALLY!” He wanted to go back to all those times where they _ almost _ and just kiss Crowley’s ridiculously gorgeous face. Instead, he kissed him now, kissed him like Armageddon would happen again in any minute. They kissed because they didn’t have the words to say how relieved they were they still had each other. It was the two of them against their worlds, it was them choosing their own side. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
